


Journey into Blackfathom Deeps

by WishForever



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishForever/pseuds/WishForever
Summary: Five adventurers brave the Blackfathom Deeps in search of a missing boy. Andromali the Paladin, Zaraia the Priest, Aellan the Frostmage, Nuari the Hunter, and Razuul the Rogue make an odd and uncomfortable party. Can their tenuous companionship survive these dark tunnels?





	Journey into Blackfathom Deeps

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, based on my adventures in the World of Warcraft as a level 30 priest many years ago. Though the world and characters of Sylvanas/Gelihast/Lor'Themar belong to Blizzard (World of Warcraft), I've taken many liberties with the lore, reinventing where it suits me. The five main characters are of my own creation, though their abilities might be familiar to you ;) 
> 
> Hope this brings you back to your noob days too!

The tunnel was cold and damp. Shadows and the black maws of tunnel openings darkened the edges of their vision as they splashed through the dimly lit corridor. Stale air betrayed the depth of the cave system. True light hadn’t touched this place in many, many years – if ever. Patches of the walls glowed a ghostly blue-green that left after-images in the travelers’ vision. It took the herbalist mage few moments to determine that the origin of this glow was not magical, but rather natural: tiny fluorescent fungi lined the walls of the tunnel in multitudes. Aellan promptly took a sample and stashed it inside his many-pocketed bag, planning to take this peculiar find to his mentor in Undercity.

Perhaps he had time to think about fungi because he was the only one who wasn’t drowning.

The water was everywhere: it soaked in through linen and leather and mail right down to the skin, chilling the adventurers to their very souls. It entered through their mouths and noses in the stale air they breathed, into their boots as they sank into the sodden ground, into their hair and clothes as it dripped from the ceiling.

The tunnel was drowning them.

The ocean above had been slowly invading Blackfathom Deeps for years, exploring and waiting for just the right weakness in the sandstone walls to finally claim the huge system for its scaly, gilled children, the Naga. Its ambition was so far advanced that the travelers at times had to wade through thigh-deep pools to continue. Zaraia shivered as another icy drop traveled down her cheek to fall onto her soaked robes. She had long given up lifting her skirts over puddles. The cloth was soaked through, clinging to her legs and chilling her to the bone.

And always, always the dripping. The water drove their teeth to chattering and their eyes to darting, following the flittering, pregnant shadows. Even the mage, a master of the energies of winter’s frost, could not altogether hold off the infection. He dismissed his water elemental not after noticing the uneasy glances the others gave it, but after realizing his own mind was filled with distrust.

This cave is driving us insane, thought Andromali grimly. How a little boy, a soft elven noble, could survive this, he didn’t know. But he did not voice his fears; they must march on, must keep plodding through the disgusting mud and water until learning the boy’s fate. This much they had promised the Regent Lord.

The rogue materialized from the shadows, making them all jump.

“Nothing ahead for leagues. They’re gone.”

“But where? How?” Andromali let out in frustration. He immediately rebuked himself. Always appear confident, or risk losing the faith of your group. It was a sign of the cave’s decimating power that it could eclipse the teachings of years of paladin masters. He forced himself to think rationally, like a leader. “Only one entrance or exit. They must be hiding in these slimy shadows, waiting in ambush. We must continue—” A skittering from the shadows interrupted his train of thought. Before he even had time to draw his sword, the rogue's knife was flying. It sank into a hairy creature with a meaty thunk.

“A rat,” Razuul rasped with disgust, prying it off his precious dagger with a bony foot.

“Many,” came a whisper from behind them. Andromali turned to find Nuari, their hunter, with an ear to the cave wall. She looked pale, and Zaraia suddenly remembered how Nuari’s family had died—to the darkness of rats conjured by an evil warlock. Her own horror grew as she understood the hunter’s words: what she had taken as the faraway rushing of water was actually the echoing skitter of thousands and thousands of rodents, sharp claws bouncing off the hard obsidian walls of a crevice hidden in the darkness.

“All ready,” Andromali ordered, but it was unnecessary. The cave had them all tiptoeing on nerves—no hand had strayed far from a weapon since their descent into the Blackfathom Deeps. The mage started muttering incomprehensibly under his breath, his hands and eyes beginning to glow an eerie blue. Zaraia stood with wand at the ready, a healing touch gathering light in her other hand. The huntress crouched in the shadows behind her blue panther, bow drawn – only Zaraia noticed the slight tremor in Nuari’s arms. And Andromali, ever ahead, faced the shadows straight on, brandishing his glowing sword and metal shield as if his shining light could keep the enemy at bay. Ready, they waited with taut faces as the skittering grew louder.

One thought dominated in each mind: they would not let this cave break them.


End file.
